Requiem
by Amber Dawn
Summary: Chain of Memories LarxeneAxel, LarxeneVexen, VexenAxel lime in 06. A collection of drabbles, each unrelated to the other, exploring the mysteries of the chains that bind the Organization together. 07 up, 10.03.05
1. awakening

**requiem**

01.awakening 

She awoke. 

She didn't open her eyes, not just yet, opting to savor the warmth of being in his arms, of being held as tenderly as she secretly wanted. Savoring the moment, the wordless perfection of simply being. His arms, around her waist. His breath tickling the back of her neck. It could be no more perfect, a simple memory caught in time. 

She turned. 

In his arms, she turned, shifting to rest her forehead against his. His breath against her lips now. She felt her heartbeat quickening, racing, galloping. His slow, warm breathing made it obvious he slept still, and even with her eyes held shut, she could see the innocence that fell upon his face as he dreamed, lips slightly parted, his scowl smoothed away. 

She looked. 

Her eyes opened slowly, as if the dream would fade away. As if she would be once more confronted with a cold bed, the warmth that she had enjoyed simply a figment of her imagination. As if the warmth would fade, the evanescence of her hope. She clung to the feeling of his arms as long as she could, and let her eyes open carefully. 

She broke. 

She should have known better than to think that he would stay. She should have known better than to think he cared. She should have known better than to trust him. 

_"The heart is a mysterious thing, Axel."_

-end-  
236 words  
challenges:  
.use the word "evanescence". 


	2. her

**requiem**

02.her 

Lingering gazes. That's what he shot her, when he thought she wasn't looking. A moment to take in her features, the delicate, cold beauty, like that of a porcelin doll. Perfection. 

Almost home. That's how he felt when he held her, even when she felt as if she could care less either way. Replaceable, maybe, but with her, he was complete. 

Reprehensible. That's what their relationship was, a mistake. He shouldn't look at her so, admire her as more than simply a member of the Organization. It was a sin... A perfect, intimate sin. 

Xanthrocroid. That's the scientific term for what he saw. The soft blonde hair, her perfect skin. When they lay together, he memorized that skin, ran his fingers through the silken hair. He could be tender, too. 

Ecstacy. That's what it was when she touched him, her hand just brushing against his on accident. He could have lived without those touches, without her attention...but he never was one to deny what he wanted. 

Needy. That's what he was, if he were being truthful. He needed her, more than he could have said. Looking back, perhaps it was a bad thing, completely not him... But in those stolen moments, needing her was what kept him going. 

Earth-shattering. That's what it felt like when she told him she couldn't love him. 

-end-  
233 words  
challenges:  
.use the letters L A R X E N E to begin each paragraph 


	3. time

**requiem**

03.time 

There wasn't time for love and laughter, or pain and tears, or even time to breathe. Not now, not even in the cold and dark of night. Castles were dank and damp at night, and Oblivion was no different. 

There wasn't time to feel sorry for herself, donning the stiff black robe they all wore. For better or for worse, she was here now, she was a part of something much bigger than herself or the Organization or even the damned Castle. 

There wasn't time to think properly, pulling the hood up as she moved through the torch-lit hallways, carefully planning each step. She followed orders, did like she was told. It was as she was taught, and it was how she would get ahead. 

There wasn't time to consider the consequences, not when he was pulling her arm insistantly, not when they were slipping into a shadowed alcove. This was her thrill, her sanity, these stolen moments. His lips on her neck, her hand in his crimson hair. Entwined, perfection. 

There wasn't time to flee, not when she felt so alive. 

--end--  
182 words  
no challenge 


	4. burning

**requiem**

04.burning

Someone once said that freezing to death is, perhaps, the most pleasant death. It is said that, once the cold settles in and the mind realizes the body will die from this, warmth spreads over the flesh. There have been rumors that even as ones skin turns blue and ices over, they feel as if the flames of a fire are licking over them, embracing them and carrying them forth into the sweetest of deaths.

Perhaps that is why he is as he is, a dual master of both the fire and the ice. He is dying, killing himself with his actions, dooming himself to eternity. He lives his life freely, does what amuses him the most. Perhaps that is what has drawn her to him; she always was a fool for complexity. She thrilled in their banter, his passion and his uncaring stares. She felt as though she had evolved beyond simple human feeling when he touched her, kissed her, ran his disgusting fingers over her perfect body.

And perhaps that is why I hate him, standing in his shadow. I can see her flush when she emerges from his chambers, her girlish, foolish grinning. She thinks she has done something, that she has made he who cannot feel...feel. She is a stupid little creature, fumbling blindly for his hand, convincing herself that she has melted his heart and doused his fire.

There is something to be said for hatred, the firey passion I feel when I stare upon him, after he has taken what is rightfully mine. I can feel my hands around his throat, choking the very life out of him as I stare into his eyes, my fists clenched tightly. He smirks at me, his arms crossed over his chest loosely. How dare he, I wonder, how dare he stand there so calmly.

Someone once said that hatred was a twisted form of love, and the true opposite of love was indifference. As I stalk across the floor, grabbing his face in my hands, I wonder what sort of sick soul would realize that. And as my lips fall against his, crushing him and claiming him, I can only wonder what sort of sick soul I must be to agree.

What a lovely way to burn.

-end-  
380 words  
no challenge

(author's note: I didn't intend for this one to happen, honestly. I've never toyed with the idea of Vexen/Axel, but it seemed a logical progression as this drabble came into being. I'd really like some feedback on this one, most of all. Heh.)


	5. games

**requiem**

05.games 

Shock. Utter shock, utter horror, utter...amusement. 

It had started out simple enough, just another of his twisted mind-games. He was always playing his games, dangerous and not both. It was a strange addiction, perhaps, and a trait of his she hated with every last bone in her body. He was always betting her in games she couldn't win, manipulating that foolish pride she held. 

"You lost, so you have to do what I ask," he had said, leaning against the cold wall and smirking as he always did. And that was how she found herself in this position, fingers clutching the black robe tightly, clinging to it, pulling it tighter around her. As if that would save her from his sadistic little grin, he pushing away from the wall, dropping a banana peel into the garbage can. 

"You afraid of something, Larxene?" He smirked, and took her chin between forefinger and thumb, forcing her face up. "You afraid of what everyone will say to your... " a short laugh, "... new pantalones? If you actually do it, I'll let you put me in whatever you want." 

Afraid. Afraid was something she had never been, afraid was something she wouldn't let herself. And the promise of humiliating him... Her own lips curled into a matching grin, and she jerked her face away from his hands, taking a step back. 

"You're mad, Axel. Insane. Touched in the head," she laughed out, pulling the robe off slowly, twirling around slowly to prove to him she had, in fact, worn them. A simple pair of leather chaps, clinging to her curves... 

And strangely missing a rear. 

He laughed, oh, did he laugh. He had to lean against the wall for support, laughing at her while she trained her face in a practiced smirk of her own. She sashayed over to her bag, slowly, and bent over for him; the laughter slowly died out, and she could feel the heated stare on her. The posessiveness, the quiet claim he laid on her. 

And when she turned around, she held out to him a pair of sheer, black silk pantyhose, winking innocently. She had finally had the chance to win. Finally, she had bested her rival; and all it took was a pair of... quite revealing pants. 

"You lost this time, Axel." 

-end-  
384 words  
challenges:  
.use the words "pantyhose", "pantalones" and "banana".  
.find some way to include assless chaps.

(you just don't want to know. Consider this my comedic interlude.) 


	6. drug

**requiem**

06.drug

There was something dangerous in her eyes last night, something akin to a strange mixture of a devious child and a malicious adult. Her nails raking down his back, abhorring the sin they had become addicted to.

It was the addiction of pleasure, the same addiction one would have to chocolate, to the finery of upper-class life. Not a chemical need, not a dependance on the drugs... a desire to feel the sensation, to simply _feel_ at all, to dance into the fires of Hell.

Her lips surged against his, passion shooting through every nerve in her body. Wanting him. Needing him. Craving him. His cold demeanor encouraged her, nudging her on, determined to shatter him, even if meant sacrificing herself.

Her name fell from his lips, whispered, tender, soft, the barely-spoken breath; and she purred his in response, back arching slowly, their perfect rhythm rising with the tempo-keeper of their quickening heartbeats. Her sly smile encouraged him, dragged him down deeper into the flames, closer to the inevitable crash, the pain that must always come.

And so they danced, her fingers digging against his back, his long, dusky hair drifting against her body... Both of them knowing, one false move, one single miss-step, could send them spiraling into the slow, beautiful torture they both feared and craved at the same time.

-end-  
222 words  
challenges:  
.must include the word "dance".  
.mention of chocolate in a way other than eating.


	7. smother

**requiem**

07.smother 

Castle Oblivion. It was called Oblivion for a reason, he knew. It obliterated. It took their lives, it took their souls, and twisted them into what it would have them be. He hated the Castle. Stupid castle, what right did it have to take away all they'd known, anyway? A smirk on his face. It couldn't take away his spark, a flame encased in a rigid heart of ice. He was the Master of Duality, wielder of flame and frost. He was unstoppable, Castle and Marluxia be _damned_. 

So when it was a woman that made him start to crumble, he began to wonder. Women. Such worthless little doll-creatures. Perfect in looks and imperfect in mastering their own hearts. To keep their passion, they became too involved, and when they wanted to remain aloof, they smothered their spark of life. Such a precarious balance. 

When she told him she didn't love him, the water dripping from his ice enclosure finally smothered that bothersome flame. Who needed passion, anyway? 

-end-  
238 words  
no challenge. 


End file.
